


This is What We Are

by secretfeanorian



Series: Feanor's mind is a dark place and Feanor and Fingolfin are doing not-brotherly things [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Insanity, M/M, interesting look at Feanor's mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1526927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>commission for sketchspot on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is What We Are

**Author's Note:**

> 1: I’m going a bit liberal with ages here, making Fëanor a young adult when Fingolfin is born and Fingolfin around the proverbial age of 13 (ish) when Finarfin is born. (please tell me that sentence made sense, please tell me that sentence made sense, pleeeeease. I’m writing this way too late. Seriously, I keep hearing these really weird noises that sound like my computer cord is trying to talk to me in some corny alien language. It’s really creepy) Also, continuing on the subject of ages - elven ages and parallels to human ages confuse the crap out of me, so I’m just going to say about how old mentally they are and not how many years they’ve lived. I really am too tired to be trying to figure that out.
> 
> 2: I love Nerdanel, and I love Fëanor and Nerdanel’s relationship and the love they share even more, but for this I required that they didn’t truly love each other. I’m really sorry to the shippers, please don’t kill me.
> 
> 3: I just can’t shut up, can I? *shakes head* This isn’t taking Irimë or Findis into consideration because I’m too tired to go searching for information about them that I don’t know off the top of my head. The only thing I know off the top of my head that I can remember right now is that Finwë’s children go in order like this: Fëanor (Miriel), Findis (Indis), Fingolfin (Indis), Irimë (Indis), Finarfin (Indis) …I think…I know Fëanor’s the oldest…
> 
> 4: I don’t hate Indis, but Fëanor does. Keep that in mind. I’m exaggerating Indis’ attitude to Fëanor as if presenting her from his point of view. This started as a pre-shipping, young Nolofinwë and older brother Fëanáro; than went to developing the relationship, to Fëanor has voices in his head telling him what to do (i.e. a mental disorder) and I’m pretty sure it went into the dark and downhill from there. Oh well. Sorry sketchspot, I tried. (and I’m sorry for the rant. I have this really bad habit of repeatedly thinking of things to say and than ending up with a 500 word rant for a maybe 2,500 word story. Sometimes more on one end or vise-versa) Well, this swiftly went from a short blabber to a 3,091 word monster. Sorry.

Do you hate your brother? The question should’ve been simple. But it wasn’t. For the first few years of the brat’s life, the answer had been just as simple as the question itself.  _Of course._  He had despised his half brother and step mother. Than, for reasons unknown and out of his control, his hatred for his brother began to fade away until it was replaced by a fierce dislike, but also possessiveness. The attitude that no one was allowed to hurt the brat but him. He couldn’t explain the protectiveness and that infuriated him beyond belief. Fëanáro despised what he couldn’t explain, especially when it was about himself. He prided himself on knowing himself and now the brat had not only upset his relationship with his father, but he had also managed to undo all of Fëanáro’s careful work. He had spent years learning his mind inside and out and now that…that…little upstart had come along and ruined it all. Fëanáro was afraid, but he wouldn’t admit it. He hated being afraid. Fear was weakness and the brat had to go or he would. Fëanáro couldn’t believe his own mind when he admitted that he was willing to go and it only made him hate Nolofinwë all the more. Wise Finwë. What was his father thinking? He couldn’t explain why he would insistently save the brat’s hide every time he got himself into trouble and he didn’t know why he even bothered. Everything had begun to fall apart since Nol-the brat was born. He couldn’t understand himself anymore and for a while - a long while -  that bothered him, but as time went on, he found that the lack of instant order wasn’t so bad and he even grew to welcome it; though the nightmares and insomnia that would plague him out of a result of the loss of order did little to be desired.

There was that insistent Voice that always went on about how all he had to do was leave. Leave, and than life would go back to normal. But Fëanáro knew that the Voice was lying to him this time. He had never questioned the Voice before, but he did. If he left, his father wouldn’t leave with him. He would be alone. All alone and that wasn’t the same as it had been before.

 _You’re already all alone._  The Voice accused and he shoved it aside and threw himself back into his work. Nolofinwë doesn’t matter, he doesn’t matter, not to me. Not to me.

But even the Voice (or especially the Voice) knew how much of a lie that was and It used that against him as he struggled to force aside the idea that if Nolofinwë was gone, everything would be fine.

_That brat has taken over everything, your father’s love, your place as his son, he’s taking over your mind now. Before he came along, everything was fine. You had closed yourself and no one knew. No one could see inside and no one could get inside, intentionally or otherwise. Now that brat’s here and you’re falling apart. You’re pathetic and you deserve this._

Now even his father noticed as Fëanáro’s dark circles gained dark circles and he began falling asleep in council meetings only to snap awake when his name was called and make some speech up that was always relevant to the subject being discussed, if not always completely to the question that had been asked. Fëanáro’s carefully constructed world was falling apart around him and it was that little brat’s fault. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the impending arrival of a second brat was announced and he’d had it. Or, more correctly, the Voice had had it.

Day in and day out, in the waking world and in his dreams, the Voice tormented him with visions of what “would” happen come the second child’s birth. It slowly began to undermine his sanity and just when he thought it would never end, his brothe-the brat showed up in his forge uninvited. Fëanáro made an effort to ignore the source of his problems (was he really? hadn’t the Voice been around since M-his mother d-left, not since the brat was born?) but the stubborn brat wouldn’t be ignored.

* * *

“Fëanáro, I’m worried about you.”  _He’s worried about you. Isn’t that sweet. Tell the brat to mind his own business and if he wants to know what the problem is, he should go look in a mirror._

Fëanáro opened his mouth to convey the Voice’s message, but the words stuck in his throat for the first time and he could only bear to snap out. “Oh really? Join the club why don’t you.” He didn’t even bother looking at the teenager, and instead continued with his work, making an effort to appear busy even though the only thing he had been doing was arguing with the Voice. Again.

_(more like the Voice was yelling at him and he sat there and took it. It stung his pride, but the Voice was technically part of him…right?)_

“Fëanáro, what’s wrong?” The brat didn’t know when to take a hint, did he?

 _He’s a brainless worm, Curufinwë. Just look at him._  Fëanáro felt a surge of anger leap up from his core and it must’ve shown on his face because his not-brother took a step back.

“Never mind.” He muttered, seemingly eager to leave the forge. Fëanáro watched him go and while the Voice had started almost-cheering in his head, he just stood there; unsure what to feel.

_To feel? Curufinwë, we don’t feel. That is how we survived. What to feel? Nothing. Feel nothing. That is what you must feel. Show your father that you don’t care and he will care._

“Because he’s worried about me!” Fëanáro snapped, tense and upset and tears welling up behind his fierce grey eyes. “That’s the only time he ever cares! When there’s something so wrong with me that everyone can tell! I’m not so old yet that I don’t still need him to be there instead of popping out more idiotic half-Vanya children! Am I really not good enough for him?” He slammed his fist right down onto the almost-cooled embers and let loose a string of curses. He pulled up his hand, shaking from the stress and examined the burn. It wasn’t too bad and he wrapped his hand before tossing the blacksmith’s apron onto the ground, leaving him in his trousers.

“If I hear you one more time today, so help me I will tell someone about you.” There was silence and Fëanáro allowed himself a small, dark smirk. He didn’t bother to pull a shirt over and left the forge, sparks dancing from his eyes.

Fëanáro could feel people’s eyes on him as he pushed his way through the crowded markets, making his way towards the royal stables, but he ignored them. Let them stare and let the women talk. He knew they would; he could already hear them starting up. What’s more, he could almost hear his father’s lecture that he knew he _might_  receive. Only if Finwë paid attention to him long enough to notice. He could probably waltz naked in front of his father and the man wouldn’t notice. Stupid Vanya. He could feel a burst of anger welling up at the thought of his father’s wife and attempted to shove it down with little to no success.

“Fëanáro!”  _Indis._  The Voice spat and Fëanáro was too busy snapping the same to carry out his earlier threat.

“What in the name of Manwë do you think you’re doing young man?!”

“Don’t boss me around like you’re my mother,  _Indis_.” Fëanáro spat, but did it softer than she had.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I am now.”

Fëanáro’s eyes smoldered and the Voice was chanting  _Make her pay, make her pay, make her pay._  He drew himself up to his full height - a few inches taller than Indis when he wanted to be - and glared down at her. “You. Will. Never. Be. My. Mother.” He spat out each word, pausing between each to exaggerate his point. “I don’t care what my father thinks, but you are nothing and you do not belong in this family. You are nothing to me. If my father disagrees and thinks I need to accept you in a position of a parent, than he is nothing to me as well.”

Without waiting for a response, he shoved Indis aside and continued on his way to the stables. The markets had fallen silent and the crowds parted easily for him. Normally, he would’ve been annoyed by the attention being sent his way, but his anger was currently directed at Indis.

Upon reaching the stable grounds, he shoved his way past the hands and flung open the door of his stallion’s stall. “We’re going away from here for a while, Yúla.” The horse snorted nervously, but stood still as Fëanáro took his mane and gently pulled him out of the stall.

“Fëanáro?”

Nolofinwë. Fëanáro sighed, but turned around to face his teenage brother. “What do you want Nolofinwë?” He tried to find the energy to snap at him, but couldn’t. His voice just came out as tired and defeated, and he berated himself as Nolofinwë looked at him with concern painfully clear on his face.

“Are you alright Curufinwë?”

Fëanáro tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out as bitter and pathetic, and he gave into Nolofinwë’s pestering ever so slightly. “No, I’m not okay. I’m never okay. I will never be okay. I am a horrible person and don’t even deserve to be okay.” He pushed past the younger prince and paused to look back at him once he reached the stable door. “Happy?”

Nolofinwë shook his head, but didn’t say anything as Fëanáro turned and left.

 _Freak_. The Voice chortled and Fëanáro just sighed. “Shut up.” He muttered. “Or I will tell Nolofinwë the truth, nothing but the truth, and in its entirety.” The Voice said nothing and Fëanáro allowed himself a small smirk before leading Yúla out of the city. Only when he had left Tirion behind did he mount up and than he drove Yúla as fast as he would go for at last half an hour before the city faded out of sight completely. Than he pulled the spirited stallion to a halt and slid off his back.

Yúla butted his head against Fëanáro’s worriedly, but was swiftly distracted by an apple that Fëanáro produced from his leggings’ pocket. Fëanáro sat there and watched the sky for hours before picking up and heading back to Tirion, at a much slower pace than he had left it.

* * *

Nolofinwë didn’t raise his concerns towards Fëanáro’s wellbeing for another month and he couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to do so.

“Fëanáro-” He didn’t get far before the proud prince that was his older brother rounded on him, steadily backing him further and further towards a corner.

“No, I am not okay, I will never be okay. For one, I thought I made that clear to you last time and for another, that pathetic excuse for a child of Ilúvatar that you call ‘mother’ has been insisting I start treating her like she is my mother which she is not. To call her mother is a disgrace to my actual mother and she is more foolish than any if she believes she will ever replace Miriel. I know that she set you up to this so you can just go and tell her that no, I am not okay, but it is not her problem to worry about me when I feel like utter shit and I will never tell her why, so tell her to disappear from my workshop and stop trying to be my mother!”

Nolofinwë tried to protest, but Fëanáro was in his face, eyes on fire and…was that a tearstain on his cheek? “Curu…” His voice came out shaky and he swallowed before continuing. “Curufinwë, Indis didn’t put me up to this. Am I not allowed to be worried about you?” The moment it left his lips, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Fëanáro’s eyes flared and he took a deep breath before attacking Nolofinwë verbally. “You, you are nothing Nolofinwë. You are not my brother, you are not my friend, you are most certainly not wise, and you are nothing. NOTHING!” His voice resounded in Nolofinwë’s ears and a tremor ran down his spine before he opened his mouth.

“Curuf-” But he didn’t get any further than that before Fëanáro back-handed him violently and he fell to the floor of the forge, eyes watering.

“Look at you, the pathetic little Vanya baby crying his eyes out.” Fëanáro’s voice was hard and cold and it didn’t sound right, but Nolofinwë didn’t dare look up at him and instead curled in on himself and hoped Fëanáro wouldn’t strike him again.

“Get. Out.” Fëanáro aimed a kick at Nolofinwë’s midsection, instead hitting his chest even as he climbed to his feet.

Nolofinwë fell to the floor a second time and couldn’t stop the tears of pain. Just pain, he tried to convince himself, the rejection had nothing to do with it.

“Nol-” Fëanáro’s voice had lost all its meanness and now just sounded choked. “Oh Manwë, Nolo, I’m sorry. I don’t know…I started taking my anger at Indis out on you…oh sweet Eru Nolo, say something…I’ve been listening to It again, I’m so sorry. Nolo, please speak to me!”

Nolofinwë could feel Fëanáro leaning over him, and his hot breath ghosting over his neck and a shiver ran up and down his spine for a few seconds before he groaned. “I think I get why you dislike my mother now, but that doesn’t mean you have to beat me up.”

Fëanáro’s laugh was faint and choked. “Oh Eru Nolo, I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Nolofinwë dared to look up at his brother and the sight Fëanáro made hurt. There were tears streaming down his face and when he saw that he was being watched, he attempted to smile but failed to convince either of them of its authenticy. Fëanáro offered him a hand up and Nolofinwë took it warily. “What do you mean, you’ve been listening to It again?”

Fëanáro tensed up and Nolofinwë could not only feel it, but he could see it completely. “It’s nothing. My subconscious just likes to talk to me a lot and It doesn’t like you very much. Or Arafinwë.”

Nolofinwë couldn’t help it, he raised one eyebrow, but let it slide.

“It’s fine.” He coughed and glanced at the forge. “I’ll just…leave you to your work.”

Fëanáro looked for a moment like he wanted to protest, but shut his mouth and nodded without saying anything.

Not even waiting for Nolofinwë to leave before starting back up again, he turned around and headed back for his project; than froze when Nolofinwë touched his bare shoulder. “Fëanáro?”

 _He’s not allowed to call you that! Hit him again!_  It was screaming again, but Fëanáro shoved it aside, body taunt with nerves. “Nolofinwë.” It was supposed to be sarcastic, but came out soft as a whisper and sounding almost…desperate.

Nolofinwë watched him for a few seconds, blue eyes scanning Fëanáro’s own grey ones, before leaning in until their lips were almost touching. Than he stopped and Fëanáro could feel his rapid breath against his face. Instinctively, he leaned in the small distance to close the gap between them and seal their lips together.

He felt more than heard Nolofinwë breath in deeply enough to almost gasp as Fëanáro wrapped his arms around him and pulled his brother closer,  _almost_ desperately clinging to him.

Nolofinwë was unresponsive at first and for a moment Fëanáro was afraid - yes, afraid - that he had misinterpreted what his brother wanted and just when the despair began to settle in, Nolofinwë wrapped his arms around Fëanáro in return and titled his head ever so slightly so that their noses brushed before Nolofinwë took control of the kiss.

Fëanáro stood there and let him and as he did, the Voice’s screeching slowly got dimmer and dimmer until he couldn’t hear it anymore. When they finally pulled apart, Nolofinwë was greeted with one of his brother’s rare smiles. “It’s gone.” He whispered, delight in his eyes, “It’s gone.” Than one tear rolled down his cheek followed by another and another, and Nolofinwë took his elder in his arms and kissed the top of his head.

“It’s gone.” He agreed. “But I’m not.”

Fëanáro looked up at him, tears still streaming down his cheeks, and than he surged up to meet Nolofinwë’s lips a second time.

“Nolofinwë?” The two jumped apart as Indis’ voice became audible and Fëanáro offered Nolofinwë another rare smile, though his cheeks were still wet with tears.

“Maybe you should go talk to her.” Fëanáro was still smiling and his eyes were laughing and Nolofinwë couldn’t find the heart to glare at him.

“Much as I’d rather kiss you again…” He let the sentence draw out and was rewarded with laughter, true laughter. The conversation outside of the forge went silent - Indis and the townspeople alike - and for some reason that made Fëanáro laugh even harder, even when Nolofinwë playfully hit him on the cheek.

“Nolofinwë, where did you get that bruise?!” Fëanáro’s laughter went silent as Indis entered the forge, but Nolofinwë suspected it was more than that. She turned on Fëanáro when Nolofinwë didn’t respond right after she finished. “If you gave it to him…” She left the sentence drag out threateningly and Nolofinwë stepped in.

“No Naneth, I just tripped.”

“Over this mess?”

“No, I just tripped.”

Her eyes narrowed, but if she sensed a lie, she didn’t say anything. “Your father is looking for you.” was all she said before casting Fëanáro a suspicious look and leaving.

Once she was gone, Fëanáro winced and looked at Nolofinwë. “She still thinks I hit you.”

“Let her think that.” Nolofinwë said, burying his head into Fëanáro’s neck. “I’m not telling her you did.”

For the second time in the space of five minutes, talk immediately outside of the forge where Fëanáro was working ceased as the Crown Prince began to laugh again, but when he abruptly stopped, they had no way of knowing that it was because Nolofinwë had planted his lips on Fëanáro’s to get him to shut up. Or so he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Yula = ember


End file.
